


Blue Skies Breaking

by Himmelreich



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What if you destroyed everything only to create it anew?</i> Grimmjow-centred One-Shot, following up his defeat by Ichigo and Nnoitra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Skies Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is fairly old - I wrote it November 2011, so way before we got to know that Grimmjow is still alive and kicking ~~or is he, will Kubo ever show more than his arm before the manga ends, who can say~~. It was originally written in German, and I mainly translated it for practice.

It was silent now. The angry fluctuation of the spiritual pressure all around him had stopped long time ago, the clashing of swords, the screams, the commotion, everything had fallen into silence. He could not tell who had won and who had lost; he could not even tell whether his comrades were still alive. His perception was dulled, he felt simultaneously entirely detached and locked in, as if he was not even a part of this whole scenario and though he knew that he was. It seemed to him as though he were in mid free fall without even moving one inch. Fatigue was clouding his senses, taking over his thoughts. The pain had given away to a proceeding numbness, he was neither feeling the rough sand below his fingers nor the warm blood on his chest. He was hearing his rattling, unsteady breathing and then again he was not. He was feeling his heart beating, way too uneven, way too strained. He was feeling how with every beat of his heart blood continued to leave his body only to drain away in the white sand of this endless desert. And he knew that he was going to die.

He was not afraid of death, not anymore. A part of him had known, had known all along that he would not be returning from that fight he chose to compete in voluntarily. Still he had proceeded, he had consciously challenged the one he had known he could not beat, the one he had known he wanted to beat at all costs, the one he had known everything about and nothing at all. The one that was so similar to him and yet so different, the one who had compassion even for his enemies, the one that had forgiven him all his actions and even tried to save his life, the one who had still failed after all.

It was absurd. Grimmjow did not understand what had inspired this idiot to forgive him. He had seen the expression in his eyes, not hate, not disdain, not fury, not understanding, but still, it had been something that had been unknown to him, something that had unsettled him and enraged him – pity. The shinigami had pitied him. He had saved him from the fall, had refused to kill him, had promised him to fight with him willingly in the future if only he gave up for now, he had treated him as if he had just been a normal sparring partner and not his enemy who had tried to destroy anything which was important to him. Grimmjow had despised it from the depths of his heart, he did not want pity or compassion, he did not need it. He had always relied on his own strength, on himself and no one else, he did not want to be indebted with his life to someone. He had made this mistake once and he would never make it again; never.

His gaze was unfocussed, he starred at the fake sky above him without actually seeing it. Blurred blue smears, clouds which never moved, light of a sun which did not exist, whose rays did not warm, the sun of a mock deity who had failed to drive away the eternal night in this place in the end. Grimmjow had felt Aizen and his entourage leave Hueco Mundo in order to fight the shinigami. He casually wondered whether Aizen had died by now or whether he had succeeded in exterminating the shinigami and in reaching his goal. Grimmjow despised this man almost as much as he despised himself for agreeing to this thraldom by this despicable traitor. He had always insisted on not sticking to morals, on not caring the least bit about principles, but he had still constantly been open and honest about everything he had done. Aizen was a cunning and manipulating traitor, someone who sacrificed his own subordinates with a smile, someone who annihilated and schemed with every word he spoke, someone who knew about their weakness and had consciously used it in order to subject them. Back then, Grimmjow had feared death, back then when this inconspicuous shinigami had come to him, back them when he had easily been defeated by this man, back then when this man had told him that he would see potential in him, back then when he had traded his freedom for power. In retrospect he hated himself for doing so, he had realised that with his freedom he had lost way more than he had understood at that point in time. He had paid for his mistake, paid with his own blood, with that of his subordinates, with his dignity. He had loathed himself for fearing this man, this man with his ever friendly smile, his two loyal lieutenants, all of them who had barged into a foreign world in order to subject it to their rule. Aizen had given all of them numbers as to categorise their strength, as to spur the competition, he had contentedly watched them slaughter each other in order to win his favourableness. Grimmjow had never given him this satisfaction. Aizen had appointed something different to each of them as well, though: an aspect of death amongst men. Grimmjow had never really understood the reason behind all that and he had never asked about it, had dismissed it as a ridiculous attempt at making them look even more threatening for the shinigami. Destruction, that had been what Aizen had seen in him. Grimmjow smiled warily. He would have liked to say Aizen into the face how wrong he had been, how his omniscience had failed on this topic. It was not destruction he was bringing. In the end he had only destroyed himself.

He had completely lost track of time by now, he could not tell how long it had been him lying here. In Hueco Mundo time was nothing, there was no reason and no way to count the days of desperation, loneliness and hunger, the days of searching for something which is irretrievably lost, the days of searching for one’s own heart, the last faint rest of humanity which would not return. Aizen had given them power, given them a human appearance, had introduced himself as their benefactor, had gifted them with this blue sky. On one occasion Ichimaru had remarked that Grimmjow’s hair and eyes had the exact colour of this sky, and Grimmjow had seen arrancar starring rapturously at the cerulean ceiling of this dome, and he had noticed the longing in their eyes, longing for the world of souls, the world of humans, for that which each of them had lost. Some of them might actually recall their times as humans, some might just imagine remembering. He himself did not know, had he loved that azure sky as a human? Had he gazed upon it, wishing to be able to soar higher? Grimmjow could not tell whether he missed being human, to be capable of feeling, to possess a real heart since he could not remember how it had been when he had been still alive.

He had told Ichigo that they were identical but had never really meant it. He had seen the look on his face as Nnoitra, his own comrade, had cut him down from behind, that look in which had nothing but honest dismay and concern, maybe even a spark of sadness. If pain and confusion had not been that overwhelming that moment, Grimmjow would have laughed. The human heart sure was incomprehensible. What had made that stupid shinigami grieve for him? What had made him wanting to save him under all circumstances? And why had he himself saved that shinigami? He had wanted to eradicate him with all might, he had wanted to enjoy the fight to the fullest, this confrontation on the brink of death, this feeling that you only get when you are doing something utterly insane, he had not wanted to lose it, that feeling of being alive. He was feeling it now, now as he was laying there dying he finally understood what had made him start this fight. A part of him had wanted to feel it, this sensation of being alive again, a part of him had wanted to be as close to this shinigami’s heart as possible. He wondered whether that shinigami had survived, whether he had succeeded in protecting those he loved. He himself had never felt the urge to protect anyone but himself, his desires and his pride, he had always been saying that in the end everyone had to fend for himself, he had accepted that all of his subordinates had died with a shrug, and now as he realised that he would die alone, it left a bitter taste. And for the first time he could recall he was honestly feeling forlorn.

Somehow it was weird that there had been a time he had been afraid of death considering he already had died once before. He had never bothered to imagine how it would be like, dying, and he did not remember the last time he actually did, but now he was wondering what would lie ahead of him. It seemed to him as if suddenly warmth would start spreading through his limbs, as if all the cold and pain of the time he spent wandering around in this world would slowly be washed away with the blood leaving his body. And even though he had lost, lost simply everything possible, he did not feel like a loser. It did not seem wrong, he did not feel honest regret. He was feeling free in a sense he had never been free before. He had said he wanted to be king, not in the sense Aizen or Barragarn had wanted to be king, no, he did not need a castle or subjects cowering to his feet, afraid of his power. He wanted to be free, he wanted to have self-determination, he wanted to go wherever and whenever he wanted, he did not want to account for anything to anyone, he did not want to be a subordinate ever again. And he realised that this was the first decision he himself would make, the choice being giving up here and now or to continue trying, trying to understand his freedom entirely. Blue. Nothing but pure, ever lying blue. His first real decision. He wanted to see the real sky, the true colour, the end of all that lying and deception. A smile slowly crept on his blood-stained face. It took an infinite amount of effort to lift his arm and yet it was a waltz, the sensation of innumerable possibilities rushing through him like a wave of pure energy. From now on it would be his decisions, from now on he was his own king. He would live up to his given aspect, he would destroy, everything, maybe even himself. And he would not give up. Even if everything around him would crumble and fade into ashes, he was free.

Blue, blue and blue evermore. His hand blocked out the forged light on his face as he rose his arm up to the sky. It was about time to end it. His voice sounded horse, rough as the white sand of the vast dunes which continued behind the horizon, and yet a resolve resonated within, giving the merely whispered words force and meaning, realising a thought, destroying. Maybe it was the end, but maybe it was just a new beginning.

_"Grand Rey Cero."_

* * *

 

_What if_

_You destroyed everything_

_Only to create it anew?_


End file.
